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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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Milo the Rascal

Part 1: Attempted Murder A story by Her Lady Baroness Rev. Panik EVlynn Bedlam, Esq.

It all felt like a dream but Milo was most certainly awake. He was a powerful dreamer and a napper of par excellence, so if he was asleep he'd know. Elton used to joke that he was a competitive snoozer with slumber on the mind, and Milo responded to it as a compliment and took any opportunity to show off his talents.

But at the moment this was not the case as he was fully alert, wakeful, and vigilant. Athough he knew that he was not in repose, something about this place was off. There was a strangeness that hit his senses like a surrealistic pillow hurled from an uncanny vantage.

It was in trying to follow Elton that he had come to this odd locale, having traveled up a silver stairwell into the purple swirl of clouds that had appeared suddenly in their living room. It was a cyclone of swirling papers with a force that knocked books from their shelves. Elton didn't say a thing as he passively lead the way to this place, but with Milo having only three legs it made ascending the stairs a slow affair. By the time he got to the top Elton was nowhere to be seen.

After he made summit on the last step of that radiant climb, having risen through a glittering violet tornado of green lightning, the portal of that strange stairwell vanished behind him, leaving him no way back to his apartment. Milo's long gray fur was heavily mused from the eldritch winds, and a tangible sparkling debris adhered to it. He decided to take a moment to compose himself, licking his paw and proceeded to groom himself while he looked around. It was nice, a large grass field filled with flowers with little pastoral ponds and flowing creeks rolling in all directions. Large willows blew in a sweet wind over patches of wild gourds and melons.

Milo could see a ways off in almost every direction but Elton was nowhere about. He paused for a moment and wondered if he had been wrong to go up those stairs after him, for the manner of Elton's peculiar splitting had been confusing.

Elton had been sick ever since he had been attacked that day, stabbed by the bad man. He had gone to the hospital, but the wound wouldn't heal. “Magic poison on the blade, harmful to my body and soul,” Elton had told him as Milo sat on his friend's lap, purring as much as he could, hoping it would make Elton better. But as Milo laid there, Elton stood up and walked across the room. To Milo's surprise, he didn't fall from the lap as a cold and motionless copy of Elton remained in the chair.

Milo was the sort of cat who followed Elton everywhere like a little shadow and seldom were they apart. It was apparently uncommon according to what Milo heard other people say, but he would follow Elton all over town, going anywhere it wasn't expressively disallowed and even some places it was. This being the case, Milo decided he wasn't going to change old habits over something like that. He decided that the weird glowing version of his friend was more real for its movements, and followed that rather than staying with the unmoving other. But now having chased Elton to this place, he had apparently fallen behind and now Elton seemed to be gone.

Perhaps if I got a better point of vantage, Milo thought to himself, and with some degree of difficulty attempted to climb a tree. It took him two tries before he finally got it, as he had never been much of a climber. He'd been missing one of his back paws since he was a kitten, but he did what he could.

Having so managed his disability for so long he had learned to compensate and it rarely gave him issue, often still outrunning and outfighting any of the other local cats that challenged him. Top Tom of his block he might be, with a few litters out there to his name; Top Tom of the tree tops he was not. So with great care, he struggled to keep his back leg planted as he crept his front paws forward.

When he finally reached the peak of the tree he looked and still saw no sign of Elton. He felt lost and sad without his friend and he began crying out a whining “meow, meow, meow!” like he would when he was unable to find Elton in the apartment. Whenever Milo sang, he would stop just long enough to listen for the telltale, “What do you want you little rascal? I'm just over here.” But no response came from his friend.

“What are you yowling about cat!?” shouted a crow who came to land next to him. Milo blinked as he realized that the crow had spoken in a manner not like that of a crow, but not entirely like that of a man.

As a cat, he had needed to figure out what some of the bird-songs meant, so he might hunt them more effectively. For this, he had learned to understand the various alarms and announcements of the crow's squawking language, just as he had learned to interpret much of the babbling ooking of humans. Other cats told him that he was better at understanding what the other animals said then they, often only understanding the words for their "people names," or the call for dinner. This, on the other hand, was different; it was like the sounds the bird made spoke directly into his mind.

“Meow?” Milo attempted, and the crow looked at him quixotically in response. “Hoy hoy hoy? What? Meow? I said why are you yowling, not what did you say. Say again, why do you sing your dirging call, it makes me sad to hear it. Tell me why?”

Milo scowled and gave a bit more indignant “Murr” at the bird. He wasn't sure what was going on but it seemed like the bird was attempting to get him to speak as it did. How was he supposed to do that, if he could have spoken the words of men or bird he would have made clear his thoughts long ago.

“Still more with your cat sounds. Why do you not speak to me? Why are you so impolite?” The crow stopped suddenly, looking Milo over.

“Are you not from this place, are you from the Real? You seem not to be of this place. Here we speak with our thoughts, we bring sound to our minds, we do this to show the desires of our spirits. Just as we did long ago on Earth. You speak as the baying ancestors still in the world, those who speak only animal words. Has no one ever shown you how to speak from your heart with the green energy of the all-power?”

Milo gave the crow the same perplexed look he would give Elton when he changed the flavor of his food, and grumbled in such a way as to strongly imply both negative confirmation and indignant confusion.

“Oh, my! You must be from the world of the Real! That is very exciting! We birds do not often act kindly to cats, but how you came to this side must be a tale of excitement to tell! But to tell it you must have words. So come with me, I will take you to Grand Unkle, for I am Nephfew. He is a shaman of great power to my family and is very wise. He will be able to teach you the way language was spoken in the seven caves of the First Garden. Come with me!”

Nephfew flew out of the tree and onto the ground. He buffeted and flapped his wings and began to shout. “Hurry, hurry! Come, come now! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” Climbing down was worse than climbing up. There was nothing to grab with since his claws turned the wrong way around. This was always the problem, forgetting the difficulty in getting down before starting to climb. An attempt to quickly twist about lead to a loss of grip and with a tumbling slide, Milo slumped through the branches catching the trunk with his claws just enough times that he was able to slow his descent. Thus when his paws hit the grassy loam with a soft, inelegant thud, it was mostly embarrassment rather than pain that he felt, made worse with the cawing laughter of the crow as he chortled.

“The grace of cats! Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

Milo grumbled and with a rumbling growl let out a “murr hiss!” at the crow.

The crow gave a raspy croak as he said, “Whagg! No need to get your tail twisted over it, cat. You seem to understand, so save your savagery, lest I believe you mean me or my family ill will. Remember that men call us murder when we flock. Though you keep it hidden below your bluish mane, my keen eyes see the glint of the adornment about your neck. This implies you, too, have been raised in the air of civilized folk. If civil, it is best to act civil; and do have courtesy for my kind are courtly.”

Milo lowered his head slightly as the bird scolded him, and attempted to imbue as much of a tone of reconciliation into his voice as he said, “Meow.”

The bird cocked his head to either side and then fluttered his wings with a gleeful acceptance. “I'll take that as an apology. It was probably not nice for me to laugh. For a cat, you seem kind as well as cunning. I hope it will lead to friendship. Allies are needed in these times. Follow me now, hoy!”

He bounded into the sky and flew to a nearby tree. Milo gave a sigh and ran after the crow. When he got close, the crow flew out of that tree, shouting “Hoy, hoy, hoy!” and into another, leaving Milo to zig zag across the fields and over the shallow creeks.

The water was clean and cool. He took a moment to sip up some of it, sweet and delicious. The whole of the place was beautiful as the warm sun shone on limpid pools. These pools gathered about them swelling clouds; mists which traveled into the sky on fog-chilled winds, their tendrils tracking Nephfew with a casual interest. But these bold wisps fled at the first barking puff of yellow swamp-gas that burped from mudpits surrounding hot springs, and retreated back to their ponds. As these ubiquitous mists each turned away in time, it was like the pulling back of dreaming curtains, revealing new landscapes, each of them a differing sort of lovely.

But then, all the light fog hid entirely as the crow lead Milo into a place of more oppressive and bullying clouds that were in the sky, but low and threatening. As the thuggish overcast of clouds mobbed the horizon, this place became dark, and in this dark came a murky gloom that crept in slowly. These shadows began to cling to all things and washed away the wondrous beauty previously beheld. Instead of a paradise of gardens, Nephfew lead him into a dank underbrush of brambling thistle.

As Milo walked forward through these foul and sulfurous mists, he saw Nephfew join another crow sitting on the branch of a leafless tree. Then the two flew to a tree with three crows, then ten crows, then four and twenty, all flying to and fro. As Nephfew lead him he would shout “Hoy, hoy, hoy,” and every bird and view would echo “Hoy, hoy, hoy!” Their cries became a haunting round that rippled off into the distance.

Suddenly Milo realized that Nephfew was lost in the crowd. He spun around, realizing he was in a small clearing with only a wretched stump of a long fallen tree standing like a podium in the center. Every tree around him was so filled with birds that it seemed that they were thick with vibrant and lively black leaves despite every trunk being barkless and dead. Suddenly with a unified cry, the gallery of murder shouted in a tremendous chorus of “HOY! HOY! HOY!”

Milo hunched down low to the ground with flattened ears and gave a terrified hiss, not in aggression or disrespect, but a pure fear reaction. He looked around frantically as they continued the shout, trying to hide behind the stump, but the birds were in every tree on every side of the clearing. A circle of them stood on the ground of that edge, blocking escape.

Simply wishing to be as far away from them as possible, Milo moved to the center of the circle and jumped onto the stump. As he moved to the center of the broad broken trunk, he looked around to see that he stood alone on this stage with all eyes on him.

But he wasn't alone, for as he looked behind him there was perched a large and ragged crow wearing an old orange dishtowel as a cloak, and a tiny, white eye-patch.

Without saying a word the old crow moved in, then began to poke and prod at Milo as it circled him. The bird wasn't really hurting him but the pinching was painful and the crow smelt like an unpleasant mix of carrion and cheap bourbon whiskey. Yet Milo didn't hiss or growl, having been warned about being polite and fearing the consequence of infraction.

This as it may be, he was certainly not enjoying it, and like the pokes and prodding of the occasional veterinary visit, Milo was happy when it was over. With one last indignant peck, the fowl let him be and returned to the opposite edge of the stump.

“Who?! Who?” The bird squawked, sounding more like an owl than a crow. “Who brought this cat to me?”

“I did,” said Nephfew, hidden in the uniform black of the arboreal gallery. “I am the crow who has lead this cat to our parliament hall,” he exclaimed firmly.

Nephfew revealed himself from the others by swooping in from one of the tree tops to stand on the other side of Milo, putting him in a flanking position with the bigger bird.

“He is from the world of the Real and cannot speak from his heart. However, his movements are wise and I heard him sing a song of lament from the treetops, singing of a loss unknown to me for his lack of words. I brought him here to you, great Unkle, so you might give words to his voice.”

Unkle considered for only a short moment before conceding the request. “Hoy. Very well. Even though he may be resistant, since he comes from the world of the Real, it should not be hard. Resistant, for the Real is a place which lies beyond the storm of dreams, where magic is stifled from the banishment that ended the Fall. It is also a place where even those minor magics naturally seek to shroud themselves in glamour. There has long been a decree of discretion by the Great Four, further aided in concealment by the banal flippancy that grows in lesser mortals who care not to see it.

“To initiate such mundane mortals from this situation is often a greater challenge, for they know what they know and are thus closed off from the green glow of the universe's heartbeat. They do not wish the knowings that knowing brings, but I believe this cat will understand, for there is a genius in cats. All cats are potent sorcerers in varying degree, and I see a great amount of mystic potency infused with this cat's spirit.”

The big bird turned his attention away from Nephfew and spoke to the murder in general. “We will wake the song of his heart together, join me in this chant of greeting.”

A crackled chatter ruffled through the branches as the murder took note of the great Unkle's command. Then Unkle himself turned his head to the side to stare Milo straight on with his one good eye. “Cat! Greet me and tell me your name. Tell me your name proudly and tell me too, your title. Tell to me the title you apply to your manner and deeds. Speak to me with boldness. Speak to me with the beating of your heart. Tell me with the breath of your life, as if all you say is the breath of the trees and your speaking the heartbeat of the woods. Speak as if you are the voice of all nature.”

Milo was certainly intimidated, but he sat tall and puffed out his chest and attempted to do as he was told. But all that came was “Meow, Murr, Meh.”

To his surprise came a roar of the crows in a grand unity, “MEOW! MURR! MEH!” This startled him so greatly he almost lost composition and scrambled, but instead he held his position despite the impulse.

“Say again! Say again with your heart as the deep of the wood. Say again with your breath as big as the sky and let your heart become the rise and fall of the sun! Speak thy name and claim thy title!” Unkle shouted at him in a raspy caw.

“Merro, meh murr, meh meow,” Milo attempted again, but this time a strange tone took his voice. It was like something deep inside him was attempting to break free and in doing so twisted the quality of his mewing as it emanated from his throat. It struck him as the sort of gargling tone that gripped his cough whenever he had a hairball. The nervousness of the packed theater surrounding him watching his every move gave him a sense of stage fright nausea, but there was something more to his voice than a queasy gurgling.

“MERRO! MEH MURR! MEH MEOW!” the murder mimicked.

“Again! Feel it! Declare yourself to all of nature!” Unkle screamed in fervor. Digging as deep as he could, he gave a great roar and his own words shocked him as they left his throat, for although it seemed to him he was simply giving a loud meow, instead came words.

“I am Lon-Milo the Rascal! Paladin of Ulthar!”

The crowd fell silent for a long heavy moment before erupting in cheers of adulation and chanting. “His Name is Milo! His Name is Milo! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” Suddenly Milo felt dizzy and sleepy as if the weight of the day's expenditure hit him all at once and he began panting for the effort. Great Unkle seemed to notice this and gave a comforting caress with his wing on Milo's face.

“You have done well, but I know that such a spiritual task as unleashing your voice is draining. I shall dismiss the court and so we may speak in private.”

And with that, the old crow gave a deafening “CAW! CAW! CAW!” that drowned out the voices of all others. It brought them to a silence so severe Milo could hear a full three beats of his heart ringing in his ears. In a torrent the murder took to the sky in a great singular flocking, and then dissipated like the darkness at dawn, leaving only Unkle and Nephfew. The black birds disseminated into every distant direction. Milo could hear a few cackling out, “His name is Milo! Hoy! Ahoy! Paladin of Ulthar! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!”

“Come, Lon-Milo, we shall retire to my home and have some refreshment and rest. There you can tell us of your sorrow, regale us tales of your rascality, and inform to us the ways of your land of Ulthar.”

Milo was uncertain of himself, but attempted to speak. He managed a scratchy grumble and said, “Yes, Unkle. Refreshment and rest. This sounds wonderful.” He was shocked at how easily the words came to him in contrast to the prior attempts, although it still seemed a tongue twister to say any words at all. “Indeed! Wonderful, wonderful! Hoy, Hoy! Wonderful. I told you Unkle would help!” Nephfew squawked happily, and then flew off in what Milo presumed was the way to Unkle's house.

The old bird gave a chuckling croak. “The enthusiasm of youth, hoy! Running ahead and leaving both the welcomed guest and his elder behind. It is fine, though, he is a good boy. There are indeed troubling things too that we must talk about, but there is no need to fall heavy on his high spirits. Please, friend cat, friend Milo; follow us if you will.”

With a hop he was off the stump, and with a bouncing waddle, Unkle began to walk into the dead wood swamp, giving a coaxing wave of his wing to Milo.

They walked for some time with Unkle leading the way, hopping on jutting stones and fallen logs to keep from the damp ground and Milo did his best to move in the crow's footsteps. As they moved, the swamp became wet with a dank sulfur smell of fetid decay that filled Milo's nose, causing a series of short huffing sneezes. He noticed fewer and fewer trees, and more and more stumps, each chewed down and fallen in the mud where they rotted into beds of fungus and green lichen. Eventually, the forest was behind them for a flooded field of stumps which Unkle and Milo had to jump between in order not to fall into the reeking bog.

A strange rectangular box overgrown with vines jutted out of the water on a small mound of mud. The wooden box tilted slightly to the side as it sat sunken into the undergrowth, and the crow flew up to perch upon its topmost corner. Unkle beckoned Milo to join him, and as he did, he noticed the object was some sort of old, large dresser or chest of drawers crafted by men. Elton had a similar piece of furniture in their apartment in which he kept winter coats, but the minor strangeness of the out of place antique was dwarfed in comparison to what Milo saw in the distance from this vantage.

A great pile of trees, branches, and mud in the center of a sizable basin quagmire; the heap was as large as a mansion and decrepit like a junk- ridden hovel. The queer island glowed with wraps of intermittent Christmas lights and was adorned with strange trinkets, garbage crafted charms, and tattered streamers of cloth fluttering like flags. Each of the decorations were tied in place with tangles of filthy colored string in such quantity that the structure seemed to be bound together by yarn more than mud. Milo watched as a stinking wind blew over the sloughed lake in a visible miasma, causing the dangling bits of debris to swing and jingle like holy wind-chimes and the twinkling lights flickered.

“That is my home,” said Unkle. "It was once the home of wise beavers descended from the Great Animal Master of their kind. But long ago this master left them to sleep in a hidden cave deep in the Nightmare-Zone, and without this guidance, they sought other mentors. Seeing their desire to be taught, a Great Human Master of the West taught them the movements of machines and the keeping of time, and thereafter, their simple dam became a tremendous mill of incredible production. It was a glorious castle on a beautiful and crystal clean, vale lake.”

Milo looked over the unsightly muskeg. “It's not very nice now. What happened to it?”

Unkle gave a somber groan. “Their progress was wondrous. Unfortunately, like their Ancestor before him, the human Master did leave after a time to take on other duties, and thus left them to their own devices.

“Some say it was the Greatest Sar-all who cursed them out of rivalry with the western Master, while others say it was the Dauphine- Despotissa Adélaïde who afflicted them with the sickness of men for learning the ways of men, as is her dark sense of humor. Still others say that it was the western Master himself, doing this for unknown reasons, for he was mysterious. Yet I believe neither the auspices and agencies of the Witch Queen, nor gynecocracy of the southeastern Sorceress, nor the ire of their old teacher.

"I say it was they themselves who, in aspiration and with lack of reflection, fostered the same illness of greed and miserly deed that so afflicts the men of your world. Three hundred years ago the beavers began to claim all they could survey, hoarded all they could hold, and soon after the land was unlivable and it was filled with death. Those who survived had their hearts filled with melancholy as they fled their foolishness, and where they went, not even the crows know.” “That's awful!” Milo exclaimed in disgust. “They sound like idiots, how could they do this to their own home?” He looked around at the wretched mire and asked Unkle, “This place is sad and dreadful, why bring me here?”

The old crow set his beak agape in a jolly expression and gave a haughty cracking laugh. “Hoy-hoy! Because as they fled, abandoning the place they made, I long ago made it my home! It is the way of crows to thrive in the essence of death and it is our providence to seek to rule over the myriad fields of decay. What was once their horrid factory producing the putrescence that made a brimstone morass of their sacred pond, now is a magnificent cathedral for me to pursue my workings. For though no Great Animal Masters remain awake in this world or yours, it is still the way of the beast shamans to seek enlightenment. And although I welcome you and any other guest who might quest to find my consul, it is a distant and secluded heart in darkness in which I might work as the guru; undisturbed.”

Milo nodded although he didn't understand some of it. Although speaking and listing 'from the heart' was becoming easy with a quickness, there were still many things the crows spoke of and things about this place that were not only unsettling, but beyond his comprehension.

He decided to focus on more practical things, and as he saw the dam rising like an island from brackish waters, he saw no means to reach it as the stumps rising above the surface became rare as one might near the structure.

“I know you can fly there but I cannot, and I would hate to swim to it even if it wasn't a stagnant pool of mud. How might I get there?”

Unkle cocked his head at Milo and gave his one good eye a playful wink and sang in a low breathy throat-song. “Ahoy! Ahoy! Follow, watch closely, what is just below the surface rises up. Follow, watch closely, and walk upon water. Walk upon the water without wetting your feet! Ahoy! Ahoy! Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

And as the elder corvid sang the refrain over and over he did jump onto the surface of the water with steps that barely rippled the surface. Milo watched closely and was careful to jump exactly where Unkle stepped, and although it was like walking upon unpleasantly wet pavement, he realized that there were upright logs standing as pillars rising upwards to sit just below the surface and concealed fully by the opaque water. Eventually reaching the mound, Unkle disappeared into a hole concealed by a curtain of damp cloth. Milo pushed aside the veil and followed.

The tunnel downward was dim but lit with the same sparse bulbs that were fastened to the exterior. It was generally an unpleasantly slimy little hall covered in feathers and filth that led down in a twisting tangle. Even with his luminous eyes, the slits of his pupils strained as the path became utter dark. Unable to see the crow, he began to panic and lost his footing, sliding down the descending incline with a fleeting terror.

Then ahead was a sudden and intense light that blinded him. With an undignified flop, Milo somersaulted into a magnificent chamber of high opulence and sanctity. Small statues sat on altars, glowing candelabra chandeliers illuminated the room, and sweet incense filled the air, overwhelming the funk of the swamp outside.

The room was full of bones but not littered with them; shelves of simple ossuary displayed ancestors with honor, and although most of the bones were obviously those of the crows, the remains of beavers and other animals were represented as well. It reminded Milo of the ritual chamber that Elton kept in the small side room of their apartment where he would wave around sticks and swords late at night saying strange words. As little as Milo had understood the strange habit of his friend, it reminded him of Elton and he missed him.

Milo became lost in thought at the overwhelming magnificence of the Unkle's grand cathedral, and the old bird gave a sharp and sudden caw that brought his attention back to the present. Unkle moved to invite Milo into a room off of the main chamber where it was discovered the younger Nephfew waited for them. It was a comfortable den whose walls were encircled by bookshelves filled with a weathered and worn collection of tomes, as well as various tchotchkes and doodads. The floor was covered with several layers of clean and soft pillows and blankets which were piled about a low table. Rising from the sea of cushions were several perches on which both Unkle and Nephfew sat, so Milo moved to join their circle by sitting across from them on a folded, eiderdown comforter.

On the table was a modest but appealing feast. A dish of clean water sat out for him next to a bowl of cream. A bag of cat kibble sat on the table open next to a large sack of birdseed, with some of each poured onto mismatched platters. There were also freshly opened tins of tuna and sardines set next to a cooling bowl of sticky rice, features that surprised him as these were rare favorite treats of Milo's. Less appealing were carrot sticks and apple slices, but these seemed to be favorites of the host as Nephfew was already chewing on one of the fruit cores. Several glasses held small live fish that swam around, but it was obvious that this was not decoration but an hors d'oeuvre.

"Thank you,” Milo said with a nod to the crows. Then he snagged and swallowed down one of the live minnows before starting on the sardines, rice, and kibble.

After they all ate for a while, they began to relax. Now that Milo was able to speak to them clearly, he could answer the questions Nephfew asked him.

“Tell us, why are you sad? For what did you sing your song of sorrow?”

Something made Milo feel foolish as he tried to compose an answer. It seemed that intention was how one formed words with this magical language, and thus uncertain of how he felt, he didn't know what to say.

After much deliberation, Milo finally explained. “I was sad because I have lost my friend. I saw him split in two, one half dark, cold, and still, and the other a warm glowing translucence. His light body I saw traveling up the silver stairs, and so I followed, bringing me to this place. I am uncertain as to these things I saw, and how he came here, and I am befret with the dreadful idea that I will not find him again. He walked ahead of me in an unknown direction and having lost sight of him I do not know which way to follow.”

The crows listened and considered. After discussing shortly in their own language, Unkle asked, “Can you tell us of your friend and your friendship with him? As a shaman, I believe I know what fate was bestowed upon him, but it is best if you tell us as much as you can so I may tell you with certainty. And also, you claimed to be a Paladin of the land of Ulthar, I know not of this place. Tell us of this, too.”

Milo nodded and told this story: “To know of Ulthar, I must first tell you of Elton. It was about fifteen years ago that I met him. He had been in the woods on Halloween and it had apparently been his intention to pay honors to the Goddess in the full moon. I later found out it was his practice, on special dates, to go alone into the forest and dance sky-clad in honor of spirits. However, that night he had found that his sacred clearing had been invaded by a group of miscreants. As he approached he heard a kitten cry out, and this kitten was me.

“A group of three boys had pulled me out of a box the day before. In this box, I had been placed with my litter mates, and together we were placed on the sidewalk, set there in hopes to help us find homes to share with lonesome humans. It had been my naive belief and hope I was going somewhere nice, but their house was smelly, their loud music hurt my ears, and they were mean to me, and I had to catch bugs for food. I was just getting accustomed to their squalor when they threw me in a bag, and it was then that I began to panic.

“When they roughly pulled me out again I no longer had any misconceptions as to their hostility, and I responded in kind; trying to scratch and bite them as best as I could.

“Although I managed to draw blood from two of them, biting the hand of one and drawing a raking slash across the other's face, they managed to overpower me easily since I was at the time very small, having been the runt of my litter. Thus they were able to hold me down on a large stone at the center of the clearing.

“As the two held me down, the third held a knife in the air and shouted out all sorts of strange noises, and then called for the ‘intelligence of all the earth, of the moon, of the sun and all the planets to enter our sacrifice so we might gain that knowledge through our dark feast! Let your cursed hand be my hand and with it move my knife. Let this beast receive your curse, let it pay the price in blood as we take its powers!’

“Just as the speaker drove down his blade, he crumpled. My future friend Elton had crept up from behind and struck him in the back of the head with a heavy stick. ‘You fool! Don't you know the Law of Ulthar? Thou shall not harm cats!’ he shouted as he attacked. Such a display was enough to frighten off the two flunkies but unfortunately, not all harm was prevented. Although the kitchen knife was detoured from striking my neck where it had been destined, it instead struck me in my leg, crippling it.

“Elton might have run after the two men, but instead stopped and tended to my needs, ensuring that I was all right. He rubbed his hand against my face to attempt to comfort me in my pain. It helped somewhat, but my injury was severe. The pain brought with it various images of horrible things swirling around me, filling my eyes.

“In an instant, they showed me many things, and my mind took a great focus, yet their shapes were terrible and frightening. I was afraid they would take me away, as the bad man had implied, but when they had tired of their tormenting teachings they swarmed at that fallen man, taking residence within him. It was at this point I lost consciousness from the loss of blood.

“I had feared that I was dying, but it was Elton again to the rescue; he took me to a doctor. My leg was lost to save my life but I learned to get on fine without it, and I was taken home to live with him.

“He was kind and good to me, treating me as his closest friend, giving me fine food, and reading aloud to me many stories which I found entertaining and fascinating. Much of what he read was dry and technical, speaking of various manner of formula and symbolic meanings. Others were strange fictions, and exciting tales of dread, with his and my favorites being those of a man called Lovecraft.

“This man told fanciful tales, many frightening but fun ghost stories of sorts, but one in particular spoke of a city in the land of dreams called Ulthar. At my request, and Elton always seemed to understand me when I asked in my cat song though he was a man, he would read me this story.

“In it, an elderly couple would hunt the cats that lived with the people of Ulthar. When the couple took a kitten from a group of nomads who were passing through town, the travelers cursed the couple for their misdeeds, and a swarm of cats banded together to enact that curse upon those wicked hunters. The people of that town then declared the Law of Ulthar: thou shall not harm cats.

“Perhaps I liked this story because I am a vengeful sort, although I have always sought to be relaxed and of easy temper. In both dreams and waking I found myself sworn to combat, fighting under the banner of that imagined place; claiming its valor in revelry and in many a late night brawl with the other cats on my block. I never meant any true harm, but it was necessary for me to fight fiercely until I bested each one. I am short a leg, but I grew larger, stronger, and more willful than any other in my domain.

“It seemed that vengeance was also permanently fixed in the heart of the bad man as well. One day many, many years later, as Elton and I walked down the street, the man attacked Elton with a poison-dripping dagger. To look at the bad man it was easy to see that the curse he called down had wasted him away, and perhaps this was his last desperate act to harm those who had denied him.

“Although he was able to stab Elton in the stomach, I leapt upon his face in a fury. This knocked him back before he could finish his foul deed, and as I retreated to let him fall, he stumbled into the road and was flattened by a passing truck.

“Elton was rushed to the hospital, and after a short time he seemed to have mended and returned home. Yet for the most of a year he was sick and did nothing but sit in his chair, reading aloud but little else. That is, until the day his body of light stood up and walked away from the dark of his form, and I followed him to this point."

Unkle seemed to understand and nodded. “I would believe I now know to what end your Elton may have traveled and in what form. But to understand this I should tell you of this place that men of your world call 'the Other-Side' and the natives call the New Hyperboria. The world of the real is surrounded by the Dream-zone above and the Nightmare-Zone below. The Nightmare- Zone is where the highest agents of nature serve the planetary intelligences, and through pact, guard the sleeping Animal Masters of ancient times in hidden caves. Below this frightful place are worlds of worse things: bad spirits.

“But here in the Above, reaching through the Dream-Zone, is this Other-Side: the place where wizards fled after the Fall, and the ancient cultures were rebuilt. The Great Animal Masters of old helped them build it. Their help was vital, but the act left them exhausted. They left the world in the care of the Human Masters under the lights of the divines, and they left to sleep in the worlds below. “Animal shamans such as myself still aid the workings of men and advise them to the balance of nature, but no animal has become a Great Master of the Way in the whole of the last epoch. The Opossum mother, the most powerful of those old Masters, was last to leave. She gave her name and blessing to the Grand Master of the North, but after that, the will of Animals lost sway. Instead, we either swear to the intrigues of the Masters, or isolate ourselves to our tribes. The Clans of the corvids seek to do both by doing neither.”

“That is interesting,” Milo hazarded with some effort to follow Unkle's words. “But what pray does that have to do with the division of my friend, and the movements of the half I followed?”

“It is important because the reason he may have come here is shaped by this place. The Other-Side is a land built of intention and dreams,” Unkle said to the agreeing nod of Nephfew. “We may speculate, but from our present vantage we know not if he has passed and his spirit has moved on, or if his soul was projected leaving his living body in stasis to await the soul's return. It is reasonable to speculate that he is a seeker, for his soul made a gate to this destination instead of the infinite other possibilities. In death, it is common to move here to the Other-Side where a magician might learn from the Masters to be reborn in power.

“But if he lives, with his life projected from him astrally, his body might have been left in a state indistinguishable from death. It is common for one who can do this to be called by the masters to play part in their intrigues.

“And in either case to know of our land and its conflicts will help inform your seeking which should find success by following his path.”

Milo was crestfallen to hear that Elton may, in fact, be dead, although he had considered this as a possibility, even when he had first climbed the silver stairs. It was a sorrowful although not surprising supposition. But Milo had all this time shoved the possibility to the side and ignored it, relying on the hope that the body of light was the truer form of Elton.

“If he is dead, is my seeking futile? And if not, this idea of his living projection I do not understand. How might he leave his body cold and waiting while his dreams take form and walk in this land? It all seems strange to me.”

“His body alive or dead matters little in this place, for over time even weak spirits might regain substance and be as living again, even if forever banished from the Real. It is that wholeness of that spiritual body which matters far more. The only difference between a projection and a ghost is whether he remains connected to his body in the physical world, or if he is free from it.”

Seeing the feline was still confused, Unkle attempted an example. “I have heard that cats are strong dreamers and might travel in their slumber but may return simply by waking once more.”

“That is so,” Milo confirmed. “The man, Lovecraft, implied that we cats travel to the dark side of the moon in dreams, but I have never reached that place. However, I have beheld many wonderful and terrifying vistas beyond the curtains of sleep. That, I understand.”

“Then understand that some lands are fair and others vile, like the shifting weather of a storm. These are the zones of nightmare and dream. These are safe lands of fancy, yet other more dangerous visions can be found. Some cats, particularly those brought to their mortal ends, may in such travels find a bridge of rainbows built by my ancestors. It is a land of eternal summer and delight, but those who journey there may not return from that place, though still blissful and alive within it.

“The Other-Side is like this, though not such a hidden or terminal destination as that summer land. But it is much more true than any land perceived in the zones of lesser visions. If you were to find your Elton here in whatever state, it would be his true mind and spirit, living on in a state tangential but yet parallel to the fleshly life, not a false vision. It would in fact be your friend to whom you would be speaking, and not a phantasm created by longing.”

Milo considered this deeply. Elton himself had spoken often of the art of necromancy and what qualified as black magick in one's ritual practice. The greatest summation of this, as best as Milo could understand or remember was, ‘that which clings too hard to the world, or desires for reasons other than Love or practicing the Great Work, is a dark impulse.’ To speak with ghosts was not evil, but to contact them for greedy or wicked reasons was what made such an act ill in nature.

At this, Milo recalled another story by Lovecraft, a dark wizard named Joseph Curwen called up the dead to seek wealth, and blackmail others with information thought lost to time, and later was punished in measure. Milo's goals seemed purer to him. To speak again with his friend seemed no evil act, so Milo determined that alive or dead, he would still pursue Elton.

“Very well, if this is the case I will still seek. And if I seek I should know of this land and its ways for it is the land in which I will hunt for my ally. Tell me of where it is I am and who might be able to aid in my quest.”

“The place you arrived is the land of the West, those who would know what you need to know, previously lived in the South. Fate has already oriented you in the proper direction to seek this way, for you stand on the border of Appollon in the West and Selleneia in the South.

“These swamps divide the land of the West from the lands of the South, and it is the way of me and mine to guard this border as a border, not as patriots of either faction. Four great clans of corvids keep all four borders in this manner and the other five clans fly between to trade gossip as they fly about. Powerful lords rule these lands, each with great powers, and the tone of the gossip traded from every beak of rook, raven, and magpie speaks of a coming civil war between these men.

“Corpses may be a bounty on which my kind may feast, but a war between men of such power is a danger to life itself. I warn you for many great beasts wander this land who believe my kind to be spies in service to the Grand Master of the West, for he gave to us tribute in shining objects and we rewarded him with favor, but we swore him no fealty.

“Yet there are beasts who believe us sworn to the West that have themselves sworn alliance to the South. Most of these monsters are small but dangerous and have yet to move against my kind. But we fear it is but a matter of time. The Dauphine-Despotissa Adélaïde who was once neutral on her hidden island has come to find the ways of Appollon distasteful, and now swears to the realm of Selleneia. Given access for her oath, she is now free to whisper lies into the ear of the Witch Queen, the Southern Master, the Greatest Sar-all.

“The lies she tells are thus; that it is we crows of the West and the magpies of the East who give the vulture's agendas of espionage to jackdaw double agents. It is but lies, and I would know of such a stratagem if there was one. There is a family alliance between the crows and the jackdaws, as there is between all corvids, and they who passively served she who is most dreadful only reported the movements of the Greatest Sar-all but did not enact any ploy against her. Whether merely spies or true agents, the jackdaws were recently killed in droves for the hint that they may have been disloyal. Now they have been made refugees, hoping to make their way to this land where they might be protected.

“Their migration is slow, fearing that they would be shot down if they fly, and so are forced to cower and hide as they travel by foot. They flee with others that the witch queen has declared enemies, retreating from her tribes of berserkers and other animal servants; reptiles, amphibians, land-walking fish, filthy skunk-ape, and warrens of mice and rats.”

Milo interjected, “Politics such as these are beyond my understanding, and although I am sympathetic, I am left wondering what the peril of these blackbirds has to do with finding Elton.”

Nephfew excitedly interrupted his Unkle with the answer. “The Jackdaws are great seers. They long ago learned the arts of ghost scrying and all the virtues of necromancy from the turkey hawks, the vultures, and the condors. They would know better than any other where any spirit, live or dead, might walk in this world.” Nephfew then looked to Unkle to affirm his statement, and he did so with a coy cackle and a buffet of his wing to the youngster’s shoulder.

“Very well, so to find my friend I must find your allies. But you say that they are being routed? How would I hope to find them if their movements are so sequestered as to be concealed from detection? I am a seasoned hunter, but it seems that things found here are more hazardous than they are in my world. And what of the opposition, you said they are chased by evil mice and rats? Some sort of skunk? What danger might a batch of ornery rodents really provide?”

As he spoke, he was interrupted by a bone- shaking crash and his head spun to have this quiet sanctum interrupted by such a cacophonous explosion of action. There was a blast of some large thing erupting through the far wall of the dam. It was the prow of a ship, driving up logs and casting up the table, throwing food on the floor and swamping the cushions with a surge of wretched water. As he looked at the bow of the ship he saw the face of several rats peeking over the railing. Odd as this was, they were suddenly joined by another rodent face much more massive and terrifying: green molded fur, red bloodshot eyes, and wicked yellow fangs dripped as it leaned over the side of the ship, looming larger than a labrador.

Perhaps stranger than this gargantuan rat was another sizable rat who, though not so large as the monstrosity, was a huge ship-rat of the same size as Milo himself. But it was not his scale that distinguished him, but that he wore a pale, ruddy brown long coat with epaulets, and a black three- cornered hat bearing a jolly-roger.

This pirate rat jumped up and balanced on the railing where he stood easily on his hind legs in full biped, which seemed to be an outright defiance of his natural anatomy. He wore one fingerless glove on his right hand, and in it he held a sword with a grip that seemed far beyond even the capabilities of a raccoon; it seemed he could hold it as well as any human could. Distracting from this frightening revelation was the fact that he was missing the hand opposite; replaced with a large barbed hook adorned like a fly fishing lure.

“Yar! Avast! Wot a delightfully squalid little cove yeh gots here. I think that tonight we be eating crow with a side feasting of feline. Yar-haw-haw! Squee!” The captain bantered as he jumped onto the huge rat brute's back. “Forward! Attack and take to spoil what ye kan! Har Har!”

Milo was filled with rage, his claws flexing from his fingers as he sprung to defend his new friends.

To be continued

#original character #non-human characters #trans author #original setting #crows #afterlife #disabled characters #cats

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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Normally Patricia and her friends would actually go to the drive-in on Saturday night. Lizzy’s uncle owned the place and he’d always let her bring a carload of her friends in for free since they usually made up for it buying concessions. But Lizzy’s steady Jack knew about a happening party just outside of town at the abandoned Kensfield farm. So instead of hitting the movies like Patricia told her parents they would, she sat in the back seat smiling as they blew past the city limits sign and a cool night wind whipped her long hair about her head.

Pat was glad she didn’t have to suffer through a double feature of Dr. No and From Russia with Love. Mason had liked the spy thing and was constantly talking about James Bond and John Drake, and always had a cheap paperback in his pocket with a girl in silhouette holding a gun on the cover. But after they broke up a few months ago just after the spring dance, she really had no interest in spies.

“Spies are liars,” she muttered, watching shadows flitting past under a clear sky of stars. A little bit of country air and some beers that Jack’s older brother got them sounded way better than indulging in a testosterone-driven male fantasy about secret documents and space lasers.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone there, Pat,” Lizzy shouted over the wind. “I heard from Ruth that a whole bunch of people from out of town are going to be there.” Liz paused just long enough to take a hard slug off her beer. “It would be nice if you found a guy to help you get over Mason, then you could go double dating with me and Jack again. I always prefer going out as a couple of couples, it feels more grown up that way.” Trying to drink in between words, Liz drank too much at once and began coughing, but continued to talk anyway. “Not that we mind you tagging along or nothing.”

Jack grabbed the beer from an indignant Lizzy and he finished it in one go. He tossed the can out the window, looked back at Patrica over his shoulder with a wink and said, “Yeah Pat, we don’t mind. I kinda like having you hanging around when Lizzy is going down on me, it gives me something pretty to look at.”

Patrica blushed a little, but Liz was quick to punch him in the shoulder and shouted, “You pig! That was only once and I was drunk! It wasn’t on purpose, I forgot Pat was there.”

“Don’t lie! You’re one of those lady perverts! You’re one of them girls who likes being watched while you’re making it; like the women in those dirty books you’re always reading.”

Lizzy responded to the accusation with some degree of moral outrage, and the two continued to banter loudly but she was soon playfully chewing on Jack’s ear instead. A few minutes later the car swerved unexpectedly before drifting back into its lane, leading Patrica to assume that Liz’s hand had successfully made its way into Jack’s bluejeans. Patrica pretty much tuned out what Liz and Jack had going on in the front seat and decided she was more interested in drinking her beer.

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#sci-fi & fantasy #horror #queer characters #intersex character #short story

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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The stars did not twinkle or shimmer as they did on Earth, and for that reason they seemed infinitely more distant and unreachable. The ship’s atmosphere was not nearly as dense as it was on that small blue planet, so those impossible to hold gems did not flicker as they did when seen in far off observatories. That nebulous glow made the stars seem friendly and especially close when viewed through the fractal-convergence telescopes built into the tall castle spires of the Somek At'Grallah, but here in the void of sub-etheralspace they seemed like aliens.

But however distant, these stars became slightly more obtainable as Queen Iste-Hulwa moved ever closer towards those distant points of light in her crystal ship. Thus the stellar frigate roared through space on its heading, leaving a glowing trail of rainbows in the dark which dissolved slowly into the infinite depths of the intergalactic ocean.

Iste surveyed the sky, looking for any constellations she might recognize, but having traveled so far from her terrestrial home all the sky was distorted from this far off point of reference. She looked perplexed at the glowing altar at the top of the steep step pyramid that served as the helm, then looked back into the ornate gazebo that stood behind her. Focusing her attention on the huge chunk of polished amber that sat glowing on a hallowed pedestal at its center, she spoke to it directly.

“Pom, I can’t tell if we’re still on the correct heading. The console is giving me mixed readings and I never had much of an eye for Oneiromantic Astrogation. The sub-ether of the Dream-Zone might be a faster way of traveling between distant galaxies but the math to understand it is lost on me.”

A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

“And not much of a mind for hyper-spacial sacred geometry either. I’m sure the scholars of Atlantis would be disappointed that you’ve forgotten all your elementary lessons, but luckily you have other talents to compensate.” The form moved close to Iste and playfully added, “As well as friends to crunch the numbers for you.”

Iste smiled at the shadow of the dryad with whom she had shared a long friendship. She preferred when Pom would manifest her form, for it made the trip seem a little less lonely. She also had to admit that her ghostly visage was a beautiful work of art that always filled her heart with joy no matter how many times she looked upon it. With her lithe pointed features of astral umbra and smoky white vines of hair, the illusion that was Pom’s body appeared as an alluring fascination with its slight translucence that was yet opaquely impenetrable.

Pom’s true body was the seed of life bound in the fossilized heart of a once potent magical tree in her homeland, but Iste had always thought the astral-projection of Pom’s own self-image was the truer form. It was a mystery of darkness within darkness, a mien of obsidian glass in which she was shrouded. And although the dryad was perhaps only a shade darker than the Atlantean’s own more physical flesh, as most Atlanteans were, the fey’s hologram lacked living warmth. This sheen of undeath lent Pom a spectral coolness that was fearful to some but was beheld by Iste as supernal wonder.

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#sci-fi & fantasy #trans author #poc character #undead character #short story

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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Patrica blushed a little, but Liz was quick to punch him in the shoulder and shouted, “You pig! That was only once and I was drunk! It wasn’t on purpose, I forgot Pat was there.”

“Don’t lie! You’re one of those lady perverts! You’re one of them girls who likes being watched while you’re making it; like the women in those dirty books you’re always reading.”

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#sci-fi & fantasy #horror #queer characters #intersex character #short story

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

Keep reading

#sci-fi & fantasy #trans author #poc character #undead character #short story

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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Patrica blushed a little, but Liz was quick to punch him in the shoulder and shouted, “You pig! That was only once and I was drunk! It wasn’t on purpose, I forgot Pat was there.”

“Don’t lie! You’re one of those lady perverts! You’re one of them girls who likes being watched while you’re making it; like the women in those dirty books you’re always reading.”

Keep reading

#sci-fi & fantasy #horror #queer characters #intersex character #short story

6 notes · View notes

revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

Link

A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

Keep reading

#sci-fi & fantasy #trans author #poc character #undead character #short story

8 notes · View notes

revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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Normally Patricia and her friends would actually go to the drive-in on Saturday night. Lizzy's uncle owned the place and he'd always let her bring a carload of her friends in for free since they usually made up for it buying concessions. But Lizzy's steady Jack knew about a happening party just outside of town at the abandoned Kensfield farm. So instead of hitting the movies like Patricia told her parents they would, she sat in the back seat smiling as they blew past the city limits sign and a cool night wind whipped her long hair about her head.

Pat was glad she didn't have to suffer through a double feature of Dr. No and From Russia with Love. Mason had liked the spy thing and was constantly talking about James Bond and John Drake, and always had a cheap paperback in his pocket with a girl in silhouette holding a gun on the cover. But after they broke up a few months ago just after the spring dance, she really had no interest in spies.

“Spies are liars,” she muttered, watching shadows flitting past under a clear sky of stars. A little bit of country air and some beers that Jack's older brother got them sounded way better than indulging in a testosterone-driven male fantasy about secret documents and space lasers.

“Maybe you'll meet someone there, Pat,” Lizzy shouted over the wind. “I heard from Ruth that a whole bunch of people from out of town are going to be there.” Liz paused just long enough to take a hard slug off her beer. “It would be nice if you found a guy to help you get over Mason, then you could go double dating with me and Jack again. I always prefer going out as a couple of couples, it feels more grown up that way.” Trying to drink in between words, Liz drank too much at once and began coughing, but continued to talk anyway. “Not that we mind you tagging along or nothing.”

Jack grabbed the beer from an indignant Lizzy and he finished it in one go. He tossed the can out the window, looked back at Patrica over his shoulder with a wink and said, “Yeah Pat, we don't mind. I kinda like having you hanging around when Lizzy is going down on me, it gives me something pretty to look at.”

Patrica blushed a little, but Liz was quick to punch him in the shoulder and shouted, “You pig! That was only once and I was drunk! It wasn't on purpose, I forgot Pat was there.”

“Don't lie! You're one of those lady perverts! You're one of them girls who likes being watched while you're making it; like the women in those dirty books you're always reading.”

Lizzy responded to the accusation with some degree of moral outrage, and the two continued to banter loudly but she was soon playfully chewing on Jack's ear instead. A few minutes later the car swerved unexpectedly before drifting back into its lane, leading Patrica to assume that Liz's hand had successfully made its way into Jack's bluejeans. Patrica pretty much tuned out what Liz and Jack had going on in the front seat and decided she was more interested in drinking her beer.

Jack had a foul mouth when he thought no one important was listening, but she knew the come on was mostly him joking around. In her opinion, Jack had always been good to Liz and stuck by her when they had a scare. She would have been embarrassed to admit it but she usually didn't mind when Jack and Liz fooled around in front of her. She thought they were both very attractive and actually had spied on them once or twice when they didn't know she was there. A spy herself, just like Mason. She felt lousy to think about it, and it made her sad to remember.

The Kensfield farm was at the end of a long dirt road, and although there was a chain hanging between two posts at the end of the private drive which wove up the hill, there was enough space on either side to drive around the minor barricade. They slowly rolled their way up the path until they came to a field with several large lilac bushes and overgrown crabapple trees. Patricia noticed that there were several cars parked behind these trees so they couldn't be seen from the road. Jack parked in the deep grass with the others and turned off the car.

“Hey Pat, why don't you take the other six pack up with you to the house and we'll catch up in a minute,” Liz said as Jack stifled a grunt.

“Sure,” Patrica said and grabbed the beer. Once out of the car she lingered for a moment to catch a peek, but immediately felt guilty, and with a blush-red face headed up the last little climb before reaching the house at the top of the hill. It was said that old man Kensfield vanished one night about ten years ago and it had been abandoned ever since. A lot of people had said the place was haunted but Patrica never saw anything. When she dated Mason, kids would have parties up here all the time and the four of them would come out here for some fun, but it had been a while.

As she came up to the house she saw more people there than she ever had before. Normally it was maybe ten to fifteen kids at most, but tonight there were closer to thirty people hanging around. She saw a couple of her friends but she was surprised at how many people she didn't know.

Not only did she not recognize many of them, but a lot of the ones she didn't know looked really wild. She had seen pictures of hippies and stuff in the news, but she lived far and away from where most of that sort of thing went on. It was strange to see so many people dressed in such outrageous outfits. Of course, it had been a big local scandal when Jim Harper and that girl Stephanie drove out west together. They were apparently into that whole counter-culture thing, and this was the sort of place that that sort of person did their best to run away from.

“Hey, man! Check it, you have beer, far out!” said a girl with long braided hair and pink sunglasses that she wore despite the dark. “Hey, be cool and give me one before you go in there. The guys in there are animals. They drank all the beers we came with and are working their way through all our reefer. Do me a solid, give me a beer and I'll split a cig I got with you. It's a real one.”

Patricia smiled, pulled the tab off a can and handed it to her saying, “Cheers!” Then she opened one for herself and sat down next to her on an old bench by the front door. “A cigarette sounds great.”

“Man, you're all right. I was worried you would be a square coming out here dressed like Donna Reed, but you're all right,” the girl said, taking a deep swig. She pulled a weathered and bent Lucky Strike from behind her ear and lit it. After a few puffs, she passed the cigarette to Patricia. As Pat took a long hard pull the girl said to her, “My name's Starlight.”

Trying not to laugh, Patrica found herself coughing up a huge cloud of stale tobacco smoke before she struggled out the question, “Starlight? Is that actually your name?”

“Naw, but I decided after I ran away from home that I didn't want anyone calling me Bertha anymore and I thought Starlight was pretty. A boy I was with at the time told me it was hep so since then I've been Starlight. What about you?”

“Patricia,” she said, handing back the cigarette. “My friends usually call me Pat, but I go by either. I think it suits me.” She drank a bit more of her beer and then asked, “What are all of you guys doing out here? If I were a hippy, I really don't think I'd come around here. This place is mostly farms and older people. Even in town there really isn't much going on, just a drive-in, a diner, and a dance hall.”

Starlight snickered at being called a hippy and then said, “Yeah, that's probably true. We drove through earlier and it didn't look too happening. No offense. But some girl we met at the gas station named Reba or Ruby or something, told us about the 'Flower House' on the edge of town. We totally wanted to check it out. And when I saw it, man. I mean, just dig it, it's totally crazy! I never saw anything like this before, do you know how it got this way?”

Patricia had to admit the Kensfield house was pretty strange. Everything was covered indoors and out with a rich, thick sheet of bright green moss which was spotted with the sprouting of pink and white clover. Deep purple morning glories and vines of green grapes coiled around every surface. Even things in the kitchen that were left behind by old Mr. Kensfield were pulled under the carpet of greenery.

“No one knows really,” Patricia said. “I mean there are all sorts of ghost stories about it, but no one knows for sure. It used to belong to a farmer who had kinda become a bit of a hermit after his wife died. Some people say he went a little crazy and would harass people in town, but most people just dealt with him. Well ten years ago or so, people heard a loud shout ring out one night and a few gun shots. His neighbors, wanting to help, rushed up the hill, but it was so steep it took a while for them to get up here. By the time they did, no one could find him and his house was filled with plants. It was like it had been empty for a long time.”

“Far out, this chick is onto what's real! That's totally spooky Dracula stuff,” said a tall and lanky guy with a scruffy beard, long hair, and no shirt. He was followed by a few other guys from inside, but had lurked in the doorway while the girls were talking. As predicted by Starlight, they grabbed the beers up without asking and

proceeded to make fast work of them. No-shirt continued, “If you're into the supernatural we have some stuff that lets you see into other dimensions. I got a whole sheet when we were out west and I have a few tabs to spare. You know, if you want to come feel some love in this spooky flower house.”

Some of the other guys started whooping and dancing around at this. Some guy with a guitar came from inside, immediately falling down on the lawn, and after a moment of fumbling began strumming out some awkward chords. Patricia suddenly felt a little overwhelmed and the guy looming over her made her especially uncomfortable. Starlight smiled at him and said a line of nearly unidentifiable obscenities, to which he responded by smiling back. Then he put a square of paper on her tongue, turned to Patricia and said, “So what about you, Chicky?”

She squirmed at the offer, but lucky for her Liz was running up the path. She was being followed by Jack, who was walking a bit further back with a satisfied grin on his face. “Hey, Patty! What's going on?”

Starlight answered for her without hesitation. “We're having an Acid Test! If you're friends with Pat here, she's my girl and we'll hook you up. Right, Owl?” she said, gesturing to the shirtless man.

Owl frowned at first, but then seeing Lizzy bounce up to him with her shirt half open from parking with Jack, his expression changed and he said, “Yeah sure. Any friend of Patty. She's our chick.”

“Wait! Acid Test? You mean like LSD? Wow! I don't know.” Liz said with a bit of a drunken slur of excitement, “I probably shouldn't. Jack? I shouldn't, should I? Oh, what the heck. You only live once.”

Before Jack could stop her or even respond, Owl had placed the sacrament in her mouth. If Jack was going to say something, Owl decided it was better to keep the peace and offered him a tab as well, which he reluctantly took. Patricia used the moment of excitement to slip away, figuring that her friends could handle themselves.

She was less curious than Lizzy and didn't want to see what acid really did. Jim Harper had claimed to have dropped acid, and though he did seem different after he wasn't crazy or anything. He seemed liberated, or happier, or free, or something like that; and maybe that was what Patricia wanted. But not tonight, and not with that group of people. She had finished her second beer so she crept back to the car to see if there were any more left and was happy to find two. She was feeling pretty drunk but didn't want to have it wear off so she opened one and put the other in her purse and headed to the ridge that overlooked the house.

When she got up there, Pat was surprised at how far away they were, feeling distantly detached as she looked down on them. They had built a fire in an old tire rim, and someone began pounding out a beat on a small bongo that one of the hippies had with them. Between the drum and the guitar, it was enough music that a few of them started to dance. She could smell them smoking weed as the wind carried the odor up to her, and it was about an hour later after Patricia had begun work on her fourth beer when it seemed like the acid was kicking in for the folks below.

Starlight started dancing very erratically, and then took off her clothes to an enthusiastic applause from the guys who were in the general majority. It wasn't long before a few other girls from the group joined her, and Pat was surprised to see Liz among the nude figures circling the fire. Patrica was actually a little surprised at herself at how much she was staring at them all from her perfect perch, watching in silence. Suddenly, several of the men began dancing around naked as well, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She tried to look away but couldn't.

It didn't take long before they began breaking off into groups of three and four, rolling in the grass and moaning in the flickering light. Owl and two of his friends seemed to have kept a close eye on Lizzy and had waited for a moment where the mood would be right before showering her with attention, first taking turns and then as a group. Patrica was shocked to see how much Liz liked what was happening; but then again, even if Liz wasn't enjoying it Pat was far enough away she really wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. She looked around to find Jack, presuming he would be furious at his steady getting defiled by all this free love. But when she was finally able to pick him out of the crowd, she realized that Jack was rolling around on the ground with Starlight.

Patricia started getting hot watching, and without thinking her hand moved down and up under her skirt. She watched her friends and the strangers as she moved her hand in small circles and rocked back and forth. But before she was able to get there, she was filled with a tremendous shame.

“What am I doing? I'm spying again!” She stood up but had trouble keeping her feet under her and stumbled back. “A spy, just like Mason. Peeping in where he doesn't belong, lying when it suits him, and running off when there's trouble,” she muttered to herself, tears in her eyes.

It was true, Mason had done all that. She should have known when she caught him watching her mother get changed into her bathing suit during a summer pool party, sneaking a look at the bedroom door. Boys just being boys, she had told herself at the time. When she suspected he was two-timing her, he soothed her worries saying she was his only girl, although she found out later that he was dating another girl at the school on the West End. Not only that but when he finally convinced her to let him be her first, he told her that if anything happened he'd make her an honest woman. But when she was a few days late he dropped her, telling Pat it was her problem to deal with and ran off with the other girl. It turned out that she was wrong and that she wasn't pregnant, but it showed her who Mason really was. Not just a spy, but a no-good, traitorous double agent.

Stumbling through the trees and across the hilltop, she realized she was lost and couldn't hear her friends. Drunk, and with eyes full of tears, she sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a tissue from her purse. She tried to stay calm and get her bearings among the pine trees, but she couldn't tell one direction from the other.

Then, out of nowhere, she heard music softly drifting through the air, and though it echoed all around her she seemed to be able to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. She made her way out of the forest and back onto the farm, but she had somehow taken a long loop around and found herself on the other side of the property. It was near where they had driven in, but a ways off from the dirt road.

She wandered around the isolated grove of crabapple trees looking for the music and found a boy sitting on a blanket underneath one of them. He had one of those portable record players and she recognized the album as The Zombies with its refrain “Please don't bother trying to find her, she's not there,” whispering hauntingly out of the little collapsing case.

She stared at him as he sat there in profile, his features were soft and beautiful with pouting lips and long lashes. His dark hair was a bit long in comparison to the crew cuts she was used to the local boys sporting but much shorter than the locks of those shouting beatniks having their orgy up on the hill. It actually reminded her of how those chic French girls in the magazines would cut it into short, spiky bobs, but he had slicked it high and to the side to give it a rock-and-roll vibe. He wore a simple outfit that made him look powerful despite his elegantly thin frame: a motorcycle jacket, white t-shirt, and a pair black denim jeans bloused into a set of high gaiter jackboots.

The record ended and he sat in silence for a moment, then without moving a muscle he said to her, “If you like the Rolling Stones, I was going to put Aftermath on next. You can join me if you want.”

His voice was sweet and feminine but assertive, and Patrica found herself drifting dreamily through the grass to sit down on the blanket next to the boy. “They're all right,” she said meekly.

The boy grinned a little grin as he swapped the records placing the Zombies back in its sleeve and a few minutes later “Its not easy living on your own” was singing out of the small speakers as the player hummed. Without looking her in the eyes he said to her, “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes, sure. I smoke,” she said nervously. She paused for a moment and then blurted out, “My name's Patrica, but you can call me Pat.”

“Hey Pat,” he said with a sly smirk as he pulled a twist of paper out of a metal cigarette case and lit it. He took a few quick puffs to get it started and said, “Most people call me Ed.” Then he took two long drags and passed it. Somehow she didn't realize it was a joint until she was already halfway through a hard drag. Coughing uncontrollably she became embarrassed and tried to quickly hand it back to him. He smiled and finally caught her eye, gesturing for her to take another puff. “Hit it twice and pass it. Just hit it lightly this time. Sometimes it's better when you're gentle.”

She did as he said and quickly began feeling high. She had smoked some about a year ago when a friend of Lizzy got a hold of a 'funny cigar' but all that had done was make her feel dizzy. Something about this was different as it made her feel weightless, she was carefree, and she knew she was beautiful. As they passed it back and forth she began to stare into the mysterious boy's deep green eyes. With a deep sigh, she breathed the words “I'm in love,” and was immediately surprised that she had said her thoughts out loud. She started to apologize, but he hushed her softly with a finger on her lips, and then leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

Mick Jagger's voice sang, “It's not easy! It's not easy!” as they kissed.

Patrica had never been so suddenly taken with a boy. Mason hadn't been that attractive or smart, just persistent in trying to get her to like him. Once they were dating he was never really nice except when trying to get her to put out. She didn't actually want to be with him, it had just seemed convenient; a person to double date with Jack and Liz. But barely even knowing this strange boy's name, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything. He was as beautiful as an angel and he kissed like the devil.

He put an arm around her as she leaned in close to him, and she swooned at his embrace. Her hand pressed against his stomach feeling firm muscle underneath, and she immediately wanted to feel them directly so she slid her hand under his T-shirt. Her body felt hotter and hotter as she drew her hand over his abs and slowly pushed up his shirt revealing a subtle washboard from under his black jacket. But when she reached his chest there was a moment of sudden confusion, a soft and subtle curvature and she stopped kissing to look down and confirm with her eyes what she felt with her hands.

A set of headlights shot across the field as a car pulled in behind a nearby lilac bush, and for a brief moment illuminated a small but distinct pair of breasts that had been hidden under the 'boy's' shirt. Patricia was caught off guard. “You have boobs!” she exclaimed in a gasping whisper.

“So?” Ed said nonchalantly as she cupped them in a fleetingly sensual moment before pulling her shirt back down and adjusting her jacket. “Is that a problem?”

“But that means you’re a girl, doesn't it? I mean, you said your name was Ed, that's a boy’s name!”

“I suppose boobs can mean you're a girl, but not always. Besides, Ed is short for Edna, just like Pat is short for Patrica. I'm not trying to claim that you tried to trick me.”

Patricia gaffed at Ed for a few moments, looking at that 'pretty boy' face with its green eyes. Ed might have been a little boyish, but now as Patrica looked at her she realized just how androgynous her face was and realized she could pass as either a beautiful man or beautiful woman depending on what mood struck her. Not knowing what to do Pat simply sat there blushing as the record ran out and the sound of crickets replaced the rock music.

“Pat,” Ed said after a few moments, “I didn't mean to upset you. I have to admit, I was taken with you too. How about I flip the record and you bring your lips back here so I can get back to kissing them.”

“But Ed, I hardly know you. I mean we just, just met, and you're nothing like what I first thought. You're...” Patrica paused. “You're like a spy.”

Ed laughed. “Like a spy? Pat, I have way more secrets than a spy. But if you trust me enough, I'll tell you all of them one at a time. Give me a chance and I'll show you every secret I have.”

“Secrets like what?” Patrica asked reluctantly.

Ed's face became a giant toothy smile. “Secrets like these,” she said as she lifted her shirt to show Pat her chest. “Why don't you show me your secrets,” she said playfully as she began crawling across the blanket towards her.

At first, Patrica tried to back away, but as Ed began to kiss up and down her neck she began to giggle and gave in. She found herself rushing to unbutton her blouse and with a snap unfastened her brassiere. Pat was not particularly endowed in the chest but when compared to Ed's modest bust she felt like they were large and voluptuous. Her breasts heaved heavily and warm as she pressed them against her boyish lover. She began kissing her wildly, more excited than before.

Everything in that moment seemed right in the world, but then Patrica heard a sudden familiar voice shout her name and her blood ran cold. There was no doubt, it was the last person she wanted to see at this moment: her ex-boyfriend Mason shouting, “Patrica! Patrica!” from the dirt road.

“Patrica?! Holy shit! Is that you?!” asked Mason, obviously already drunk from drinking on the ride over. She hadn't seen him in months and suddenly here he was, come out of the woodwork for the big party at the old Kensfield Farm. If he had shown up at a normal party drinking around a small group of their shared friends it would have been bad enough, but this was worse than she could have imaged in her worst nightmare.

He was bigger and more oafish than she remembered, and he stood there staring at the two of them with his big cow eyes; their shirts pushed aside and concealing nothing. His jaw was slack, he drooled luridly at what he saw, and then he stammered. “I thought I saw you in my lights when I pulled up. I thought you were fooling around with some guy in the bushes, so I came to see what sort of loser you were giving it up for. But then I got close and saw! I can't believe it! I never expected you to turn dyke.”

As he spoke he began laughing like a braying ass. Patrica pulled her blouse shut and struggled to button it up, but Ed just crouched down and glared at him. Mason continued to laugh and said, “I guess once you have the real thing no other man could do the job, huh? I bet you'd like a little reminder of what you gave up." He chuckled and began to unzip his pants.

Ed snarled like an angry dog and barked, “Don't you dare! Don't even try. You'll regret it. I'll make you regret it!”

“You left me, ran off to be a spy,” Patrica muttered softly. “I never left you, you ran off when I needed you. I didn't even want you, but you had to have me, then you left.”

Mason didn't give either of their words much regard as he drunkenly struggled to pull himself out of his pants. “You miss it, don't try to lie. I'll give you what you want then give your butch lesbo friend a taste. I mean she kinda looks like a boy but I bet she still has the right parts. I bet she'd still like a taste. Huh? How about it, you want a taste of me?”

For a moment, all went perfectly quiet and everything was absolutely still. Then Ed said, "Fine. If you insist.”

It all happened fast, and Patrica was in such shock to see it she barely believed that it occurred at all. Looking back on it, she remembered how quickly Ed was at his neck, and she saw her teeth grow sharp and rip into his throat.

A hard sucking sound filled the air, like an old garden hose struggling to drain punctuated with popping and gurgling shrieks. Pat watched Mason's skin grow gray and tight across his bones until he looked like those pictures of withered mummies she had seen in National Geographic. As Ed pushed the corpse away from her it looked black as burnt wood and as it hit the ground it crumbled into a pile of dry pulp.

As soon as the heap of dust that had been Mason was on the ground, plants immediately slithered to the spot like snakes and grew in a wild instant. The ground exploded with a verdant roar of clover as blankets of moss piled about. Tangles of vines poured through the spontaneous unfurling of tall grass, and a fully formed crabapple sapling erupted from the very spot where Mason had stood moments before.

Ed turned to Patrica and wiped a film of soot from around her mouth, pulled her shirt down, and she licked the last of the blood from her fangs before they receded into her gums.

“This is one of my secrets. I would have liked to tell you about it in my own time, but here it is. I think it's probably time for me to get going, this party is kinda played out and the mood has gotten weird." Ed tried to smile as she spoke, struggling to make a joke, but her frown was impossible to hide.

Ed gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "I'm thinking of taking this prick's car and driving west until I find someplace I like. I'm sure you're probably scared, but I would like you to come with me. I'm going to get my things and then go so you have a few minutes to decide.”

Patricia looked around as Ed grabbed a green duffle bag from under the tree, gathered her records and her blanket, then put them in the car Mason had parked behind the lilac bush. As she stood there trying to decide what to do, a still nude Lizzy ran down across the field in the dark of the night holding hands with an equally naked Starlight.

“What's happening, Pat!” Liz shouted looking around with huge dilated pupils.

“I'm trying to decide if I want to go on a trip with someone I just met.”

“Me and Starlight are going to go on a trip too!” Liz declared with excitement. “Me and Owl and Starlight are going to a drive to a place to see a band play. We all just realized we're in love with each other and want to go on adventures. I also think that we all might be birds so we might go flying also because that's what birds do.”

Starlight cut in and said, “Yeah, we're totally birds. But I think Owl knew that already. But we're going to do a bunch of acid and do whatever we want whenever we want, and we'll all live forever!”

Pat looked at the two of them, both naked as day and holding hands while Jack and Owl both yelled for them to come back, neither of them wanting to leave the light of the fire. She smiled and hugged them both. “I hope you do! I love you both. Have fun on your adventures. I have to get going.”

Liz watched as Pat ran over to the car and kissed Ed long and hard before getting in and driving off down the dirt road. She then turned to Starlight and said, “I'm so happy that Pat found a new boyfriend. That guy is way better looking than Mason. Plus Mason was kind of a crazy idiot.”

Starlight laughed. “Man, too many guys are idiots.” She stopped to pick several of the beautiful flowers that had just grown from nothingness moments ago. Then she turned to Liz and said, “She's probably lucky to be rid of that other guy, her new guy seems really sweet.” Then the two went back up the hill to dance around the fire until the sun came up.

#queer characters #sci-fi & fantasy #intersex character #horror #short story #original character

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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The stars did not twinkle or shimmer as they did on Earth, and for that reason they seemed infinitely more distant and unreachable. The ship's atmosphere was not nearly as dense as it was on that small blue planet, so those impossible to hold gems did not flicker as they did when seen in far off observatories. That nebulous glow made the stars seem friendly and especially close when viewed through the fractal-convergence telescopes built into the tall castle spires of the Somek At'Grallah, but here in the void of sub-etheral space they seemed like aliens.

“Pom, I can't tell if we're still on the correct heading. The console is giving me mixed readings and I never had much of an eye for Oneiromantic Astrogation. The sub-ether of the Dream-Zone might be a faster way of traveling between distant galaxies but the math to understand it is lost on me.”

A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

“And not much of a mind for hyper-spacial sacred geometry either. I'm sure the scholars of Atlantis would be disappointed that you've forgotten all your elementary lessons, but luckily you have other talents to compensate.” The form moved close to Iste and playfully added, “As well as friends to crunch the numbers for you.”

Iste smiled at the shadow of the dryad with whom she had shared a long friendship. She preferred when Pom would manifest her form, for it made the trip seem a little less lonely. She also had to admit that her ghostly visage was a beautiful work of art that always filled her heart with joy no matter how many times she looked upon it. With her lithe pointed features of astral umbra and smoky white vines of hair, the illusion that was Pom's body appeared as an alluring fascination with its slight translucence that was yet opaquely impenetrable.

Pom's true body was the seed of life bound in the fossilized heart of a once potent magical tree in her homeland, but Iste had always thought the astral-projection of Pom's own self-image was the truer form. It was a mystery of darkness within darkness, a mien of obsidian glass in which she was shrouded. And although the dryad was perhaps only a shade darker than the Atlantean's own more physical flesh, as most Atlanteans were, the fey's hologram lacked living warmth. This sheen of undeath lent Pom a spectral coolness that was fearful to some but was beheld by Iste as supernal wonder.

“I'm sure the High Philosophers are rolling in their watery graves, but that hardly answers my question,” Iste shot back at the elfin shade. “I do have a quest to attend to and it would be nice to know if we're on course.”

Pom-Hymenaea sighed cheerfully and moved in position before the helm, drawing up an array of stars and grids projected in lights over the altar console. She studied them for a moment and said, “As best as I can determine we are on course. Unfortunately, your old friend didn't leave us much to follow when he sailed off beyond the sunset.”

Indeed it was true that wondrous scientist and Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao, had abandoned his throne almost two hundred years ago. He had left to seek the dreams of distant alien worlds with little hint of where his intended destination would be. An appropriate retirement adventure for someone of his power and intelligence, but he had taken with him the Chart, an ancient mapping device made with the most advanced of crystal magic.

It had been something of a gift, for Iste understood the difficulty of navigating the void without a guide, so Qi-Miao accepted it gratefully as he tripped off into the light fantastic. However, the Chart had also been an important tool in determining the placement of the one hundred Crystal Resonators, which mapped their hidden locations. Thus, without the Chart, the whereabouts of these magic transmitters was unknown to Iste and all of the sacred knights of the Somek At'Grallah.

This lack of knowledge put their order in a difficult position. The Crystal Resonators had been a collaborative work of divided labor, and with Qi retired beyond the stars the protection of the resonators fell on Iste. Yet it had been Qi-Miao alone who had been trusted to hide these devices through the terrestrial cosmos. Iste was quick to admit that the eccentric inventor was a cunning trickster, and she could not even begin to guess where the devices might have been interred.

Qi-Miao had derived the divine clockwork that caused the resonators to chime at the correct mystical frequency, and Iste had cut the crystals to hold the quality of perfect psychic harmony. Up to this point, they had successfully served as “spirit granaries” to store and distribute positive energies and draw off and cleanse negative powers. The crystals would absorb bad vibes, converting them into benevolent psychic forces that the dreamers of the world could unconsciously tap. But recently problems with the system had arisen.

They had been hidden specifically so they would not be tampered with, and as they were self-maintaining it should have been a simple matter, placing them and leaving them without thought of finding them again. Qi-Miao had modified the function of the Chart to track them, but Iste herself had insisted that he take it with him as she thought the loss of it wasn't of any hazard.

And for the last two hundred years, it hadn't been a loss of any consequence. However, when it was discovered that the demonic beings of the Diablo-Infernum had found a small number of the Crystal Resonators and manipulated them to serve their goals, the unfortunate repercussions of Iste's present to Qi-Miao became apparent. The demons quickly began to corrupt the resonators which infected the entire energy network with malicious vibrations. This served to exaggerate the nightmare side of humanity.

The mystic-scientists of Somek At'Grallah detected the change in cosmic vibrations, but only after this plot had been put into motion. By the time it was discovered, they calculated that no less than three of the hidden resonators had been rededicated towards the intent of psychotic malice. Iste-Hulwa had taken this terrorist attack personally, and immediately sought out the parties responsible. Although not acting alone, it was determined that the Demon Lord of the Fourteenth Hell, Messier Filbaskist, had used his understanding of the “in-between places” to put a number of the devices under the Infernum's control.

Iste engaged the Devil in combat and though he escaped into the dark of the bottomless pit at the lowest point of Hell, she was able to discover the nature of their plot which the 22 Demon Lords had dubbed the “Lethe Gambit.” With the Crystal Resonators still hidden from the Somek At'Grallah, and thus sitting out of reach and beyond repair, Iste-Hulwa determined that seeking out Ji Qi-Miao and recovering the Chart was the only possibility for salvation.

“We've now passed out of psychic communication range, we are now in the true Deep-Aether,” Pom reported, as Iste repeated the details of her mission in her head for the hundredth time.

“Oh, excellent,” Iste replied, pulled back to the present. “Please check atmospheric and life support systems.”

Pom drifted down the stairs at the fore of the temple-helm and danced over the grass that grew on the surface of their floating island. From above the 'deck' of their ship, its shape appeared like a teardrop, with the temple in the aft centered between a semi-circle of standing stones. Pale and titanic, the rough-hewn monuments exuded a lovely rolling fog like giant shards of dry ice. She examined the stones, then returned to the base of the stairs where a three-tiered marble fountain sprayed misty torrents of water into dripping basins. She gazed into the pools with intense scrutiny paying particular attention to the roll of bubbles churning within.

Satisfied with her inspection, she returned to the helm and reported. “The Quartz-Menhir are successfully generating an artificial dream-synthesis field providing full environmental containment, and external shields are at 98%. The fountain is producing viable terrestrial atmosphere, although it appears that the greenhouse on level 3 of the temple structure is not receiving enough light; so I'll be redistributing additional energy to the lamps. Final report: all life and psychic support systems functioning at full.”

Iste took a deep breath and took one last look over the console. “Excellent. However, do a physical examination of the lamps in greenhouse three. It would be difficult to re-establish any crops if they were lost, and they're vital for the long term life support of a trip like this. Once you've done that if there is nothing else to report, fix the heading and dismiss yourself. If I need anything else I'll call you.”

“Very well Captain,” Pom said with a chuckle before vanishing in an ethereal inkblot splatter.

Iste walked down the temple stairs and past the fountain, looking back and once again noting how much the temples of Atlantis resembled those of the later Aztec. She supposed that it was not technically an Atlantean temple as it was built by the Somek At'Grallah in the Higher Realm many millennia after The Fall. However, the “Earth” beneath her feet was, in fact, one of the last shards of the island of Atlantis.

It was a relatively small slab of geode recovered from when that island shattered and sank so long ago, and its huge crystal tetragons and natural points that clustered at its ventral aft radiated with metaphysical tornadoes of prismatic light. These energized crystals not only projected the hull through space and naturally generated the ship's power, but also served to illuminate the verdant deck of The Axis Mundi. Thus this last Atlantean Starship was brilliantly lit from about its rim by way of rippling waves of aurora borealis.

She gazed into these electromagnetic pulses of color and realized it was not the northern lights that she was reminded of, but the strange sky over the city of her youth. Iste recalled how those purple clouds of the dream-zone could be visually seen, rife with rainbow lightning surges that filled the air with the smell of sweet orchids. It had been a very long time since the people of Earth had so directly and collectively viewed the dreaming tempest while waking, and for the first time in a long time, she felt homesick for the land of her birth.

She navigated between the small knolls formed by the sacred burial mounds that had been placed in honor of that island's fallen. They framed a small winding path which terminated in a pointed overhanging cliff that served as the ship's bow. On this ledge sat a large, round, basalt sculpture which she had placed there long ago, providing the maidenhead for the ship when it was built. It resembled those stone heads produced by the Olmec, though its creation had preceded that culture somewhat and its face was more feminine. With a sudden bound, she gracefully jumped twelve feet into the air and landed delicately on the center of the fifty-ton monument, settling into a relaxed, seated position upon the crown of the head and stared wistfully into space.

“Why come out this far Qi?” she asked of her absent friend. “Was the beauty of our Earth and its heavenly realms not enough for you to focus your genius upon?”

With a sigh of lament, she continued. “And how do I even know that we are on the right path? All you did was point to the sky at a bright white star on the southern horizon, and like Peter Pan, told me 'straight on til morning' was your destination. So long ago you made that gesture, I was lucky to have remembered the astrological house to which you pointed and narrowed the possibilities from there. If only I had a hint or horoscope to tell me if I was on the right track.”

Closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind, she wished for a sign. She knew such simple enchantments were a somewhat childish bit of knavery, but just as the lesser mortals pray to keep heart, it was a spelling cast without air of expectation; nothing more than a purely expressed desire to see her friend again.

As she opened her eyes she saw the answer to her request just in time to react to it, touching the activation gems on the ornate disks that covered her ears. From those large earrings, her tall crowned battle helm instantly unfolded about her head just as a metal sphere about a full foot in diameter erupted through the ship's glowing force field and struck her armored brow with incredible force.

The impact rang against her helm like the grandest bells upon the highest mountain monasteries, and with an explosion of sound, sent Iste flying backwards over the twisting mounds where she landed in the ship's fountain with a splash. For all her abilities, if not for the powers held in her armor, she would have been knocked unconscious or even killed from the unexpected strike but instead, she was only momentarily dazed. Shaking off the staggering hit, she climbed out of the fountain and began searching for the orb that had laid the blow.

Pom appeared suddenly. “Queen Iste! Are you all right?! Long distance scans had detected no foreign objects prior to the impact breech. Do you require medical attention?”

“It's okay Pom, I'm fine. Just a tad disoriented, but not hurt,” Iste said a little out of breath, but still scanning for the object. “I thought you said our shields were functioning at capacity.”

Sheepishly, the spectral dryad admitted, “Technically I stated that shields were at 98%, which is technically functioning capacity, statistically speaking. Technically.”

As Pom spoke, Iste discovered the rogue projectile, which seemed to be made out of a brass-like metal with several seams dividing the sphere into a number of irregularly shaped segments. Although there was a slight scuff indented into the orb where it had struck her, it seemed generally unharmed and was cold to the touch.

“Well this looks like a technical two percent shield failure if I ever saw one,” she joked, hoping that Pom would not take the mishap personally. “Besides, I have something of a suspicion that I may have accidentally 'asked' for this. Although please check the system records to see if we can prevent future problems of this type.”

With a smile, a salute, and an “Aye, Captain,” Pom vanished again, leaving Iste to examine the Orb.

Iste removed her helm which folded back into her earrings, and she carried the metal artifact to the bottom of the temple stairs. Standing on the stone platform at its base, she stated, “Open Private Quarters.” Upon hearing the command, a circle of stone descended downward like a lift from the point where she stood. Reaching the inside of the ship, she traveled through a short hall adorned with strange electric bulbs that erratically sparked, dimly lighting the ancient hieroglyphs that colored the walls.

Her room was large and imperial with fine sweeping curtains, huge velvet cushions, and glorious tapestries. She walked past these comforts and instead approached a long stone workbench placed in the corner. It was covered with both conventional and more eldrich tools so she took a moment to select a few that she would need out of the clutter and cleared a spot to work.

She set the sphere on the bench and proceeded to her wardrobe. Although her ornate battle suit was environmentally sealed, keeping her dry from the neck down, her hair had gotten wet in the water of the fountain. Thus she decided a little bit of comfort provided by more relaxed clothes would offer help sharpening her mind before pursuing the object's secrets.

When removed and folded, the armor took on the vague look of a green eagle statuette as that was the outfit's prime motif with its sweeping metallic arm draperies and wing designs that spiraled about the skirt. She was happy to remove the piles of heavy gemstone beads that were wrapped in strings over top of a hidden electrified scarf which flowed into a white shawl about her shoulders. This tall, necklace-adorned gaiter stretched all the way up her long thin neck reaching just below her chin and was mildly uncomfortable. However, its discomfort was not only for the sake of serving as a beautiful adornment but, like the Quartz-Menhir that provided the ship's life support systems, this gaiter provided her a degree of localized atmosphere and protection from psychic attack.

Her hair was tied up in a forward sloping bun which sat over top her long, deep auburn bangs. She always felt the style, common to the women of the native Seminole, was still a becoming and modern look. She pulled the rings at the ends of her bejeweled hairpins which held the twist of braids in place, and it took some time to brush out the large volume of textured locks, but once free they hung down straight, glistening darkly. Once it was sufficiently dry she took a long green scarf from her dresser and wrapped her hair in the manner of a simple but elegant tignon.

She took a moment to admire her body in a long mirror. Although many uncounted centuries had washed over her countenance, her form was preserved in an appearance of a becomingly voluptuous thirty-something by way of her people's mystic sciences. Not a true immortal, she was still more than merely mortal; ageless and incredibly healthy. She smiled at the curve of her magnificent wide hips and drew her hands down the lines of her contour.

Exhibitionism was a common practice of her ancient people, as well as the people of Somek At'Grallah. Thus it was a regular sight in her culture to go partially or even fully nude, expressing the airs of both bodily pride and personal liberation. Yet Iste had always felt that fine clothes had added a tone of nobility to one's presence, and even if alone in her room, she decided that her matching green tunic and casual purple toga gave a sense of personal decorum.

While her regal lack of modesty caused her to hazard one more adoring glance into the mirror to admire her backside before dressing, she felt that she had indulged her vanity long enough. Even in private, she felt too much of that behavior led to the type of aristocratic arrogance she found unbecoming of true nobility.

It was better to simply let the ritual dressing be the period of self-idolization to laud oneself with fine fabrics and perfumes. She cloaked the toga about her, anointed her head with scented oils, powdered the pink of her hands and feet with fine talc, and then proceeded to her task at the work bench, where the peculiar bronzed rondure waited for her.

Iste looked it over first with a magnifying glass and then a jeweler's loupe before tapping it imploringly with a tuning fork and listening closely. She poked and prodded it carefully for a little over an hour before she sat back and looked at it perplexed and grumbled, “What are you?”

As if responding to her question the metallic ball whirred into life, rolling about the work bench before Iste could stop it and with a series of sudden clicks, the surface of the orb began to undulate and crack like an egg before the shell twisted and turned into a new shape. And from out of this egg unfurled a tiny clockwork man of humorous proportion; having a head the size of its body with large, round, inquisitive eyes and stubby little arms and legs which seemed to flail about uncontrollably at first until it found its footing.

It was by far not the most astounding thing she had ever seen, but it was endearing in its minor wonderfulness and she looked at it with a gleeful smile. The automation quickly noticed her watching him and shouted at her with a tiny metal voice.

“What am I? What art you? Questions, questions! That I'm not a difference engine makes no difference! Questions, questions! What lack of courtesy! Questions, questions right from the start! Not even a greeting! No hello's or how are ye's, but questions, questions from the start!”

Even though the mechanical man was obviously quite slighted, Iste found herself grinning all the more in spite of herself. However, she didn't want to offend the tiny automaton and she stood to give a slight and respectful bow as she stated, “I am Queen Iste-Hulwa, First of the knights of Somek At'Grallah, Northern Faction of the Higher Realms of the Terrestrial Space. I greet you and welcome you to my ship, the Axis-Mundi. Please, my dear sir, tell me who you are and how you came to be floating through the depths of the Deep-Aether.”

The metal man paused but the sound of spinning gears whined from within him, and then with a curtsy, he began to tick in a manner that reminded Iste of a purring cat.

“My name is Tattler, and I was a servant of the Former Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao. He constructed me as he sailed this space upon the back of his magnificent clockwork whale. I was made to act as his journal, alarm clock, and secretary; but when he encountered a school of transcendental-krakens, I fell overboard in the battle. He must have believed me destroyed, for he never came back for me. With no means of propulsion, I went into sleep mode and have thus slept until you awoke me.”

This information pleased Iste and she said, “It is a delight to meet you, Tattler. I was a friend of your master, Ji Qi-Miao, and it is he who I am seeking now. If you are willing to help me, perhaps we can find him together.”

Tattler stopped ticking and his gears whirred for a moment as he said, “Calculating, calculating, calculating...” Until finally, he said, “Indeed, I will help you. Although I would appreciate a full oiling before any difficult questions are asked, my gears have grown stiff in my slumber.”

With a smile, Iste agreed, and after looking through her tools found some machine oil and got Tattler feeling a bit more limber. She even found some polish and did her best to brush out the scuff that their first meeting had left on the back of his head, although a small dent still remained. Minor indentation aside, it became obvious that Tattler felt instantly better to be oiled and polished, as he bounced around happily for the basic maintenance.

“So, Tattler,” Iste began. “You said that Qi had designed you to be his journal, does that mean you know where he was trying to go?”

Tattler scurried about as if he was ignoring her to look for something. “Oh yes, I know where he wanted to go. We were almost there in fact when we were attacked, but then he fled the beasts when it became apparent he was outnumbered and he vanished from my long range visual scanners.”

“You have long range visual scanners?” Iste asked politely, suddenly curious what powers the petite android possessed.

In a moment of pride, the metal man pranced about and chimed, “Why yes I do! I do! I do! I am fully capable of 500 times magnification, deep field observation, independent focus, and direct to point survey! Behold!” Reaching up as far as his tiny arms would reach, he pressed two rose colored buttons on his cheeks and with a sudden clapping sound, his huge crystal eyes suddenly protruded almost two feet from out of his head on a set of tubes.

The sudden unfolding gave the somewhat cartoon impression that he had seen something startling, and the force of their projection pushed Tattler back causing him to fall into a seated position. The eyes seemed to rotate in opposition as if they were both fighting to look in different directions, which required Iste to stifle a giggle as the lenses googled wildly at her.

Iste wasn't sure how to react and was confused by what he was showing her until she realized his eyes were actually a set of high powered, telescoping spyglasses. Iste stared for a moment without saying a word but could suddenly sense the little man was feeling a bit exposed and embarrassed by her lack of response so she quickly exclaimed, “Wow!” as sincerely as possible and then added, “Oh my, that is very impressive. So you're a lookout too? Does that mean you saw where Qi-Miao went even after you had been lost?”

Tattler's chest swelled with a sudden puff of steam and he cheerfully touched his cheeks to retract his eyes before responding. “Yes, I saw. For it seemed that he was drawn into a distant cosmic vortex just short of his goal, for Levee his whale was injured and unable to fight the current. Where it drew him off to I cannot say, but I could likely direct you to it so long as you took on the same heading. He was attempting to reach a certain star in the Carina constellation ofArgo Navis, in hopes of discovering a particular theoretical planet in orbit around the star Canopus, which was also called Ariki to some who gave it spiritual significance. This star was considered to be the southern polar star by the Ming Astrologer, Xu Guanggi, who noted it to be the most important star in the configuration of The Vermilion Bird of the South. But in secret star-maps of Xu Guanggi, acquired by Master Qi-Miao, there were also implications that within this system was a great source of magnetic consciousness which...”

As Tattler tried to finish what he was saying, he was interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship. Before either of them could react a huge crashing noise accompanied a tremendous shaking that knocked them both onto the floor. The lights hummed and undulated as a loud series of blasting zaps roared out above them.

“Pom! Status? Report!” Iste shouted with calm authority as she got to her feet.

Pom immediately appeared although she was obviously still occupied simultaneously on the bridge, for her form was translucent and not all together there. “I'm not sure Captain! We seem to be under attack by invisible forces. Shields seem to be slowing down whatever it is but not holding them off and basic countermeasures seem ineffective. Weapon systems cannot lock in on an exact target. I've begun open barrage, but whatever it is it seems immune to our lasers.”

Iste grimaced. “Very well Pom, proceed with evasive maneuvers and full barrage. Attempt to overpower shields between volleys and see if that will push whatever it is off.”

Tattler scuttled across the floor, diving into the pile of cushions. “Not again! Not again! It is the Transcendental Space Krakens! Not again! I only just got out of the void, I do not want to be cast back into it so soon! Not again! Not again!”

Iste shouted at the pile of pillows. “Tattler! Pom said lasers aren't effective. If these are the Space-Krakens you faced before, did they show any weakness that you can recall?”

“They seemed immune to almost all attacks, only Levee's psychic sonar scream seemed to scare them off. It was just enough for the Master and her to get away.”

“Only vulnerable to direct psychic attack?” She chuckled confidently and grinned wide in spite of herself. “I suppose I'll just take care of this myself, then.”

With a swift, extravagant twirl, Iste unveiled herself in a singular motion. The folds of her garments floated down around her like autumn leaves, and Tattler's eyes shot out again as he watched Iste's form appear before him, nude and impeccable.

Falling into a short and distinct kata of elegantly choreographed dance, her movements were accented by the singing of a ghostly song that possessed an antediluvian quality. The ship shook and tilted and the artificial gravity failed sporadically. Various objects bounced across the room, falling and floating erratically. However, Istemoved gracefully by maintaining her own sense of reference, detached from space as the Axis-Mundi spun about her.

As her dance ended, she thrust her arms out to her sides and the green eagle statuette unfurled its wings and flew to her. Unfolding itself and then wrapping around her as it met her touch, she was again adorned in her ornate suit of mystical armor. Tapping her earrings, her head was encased in her heavy battle helm. Armed and armored she ran down the hall to the stone lift, shouting back over her shoulder, “Stay here and try to be safe, Tattler!”

The tiny automation remained buried deep in his pile of pillows but chirped loud in response. “Will do! Will do!” as he tried to shove his eyes back into his head.

As Iste rode the lift to the deck of her ship, she gripped in her right hand what appeared to be a large crystal point approximately a foot long. The points themselves were exposed and glistening prisms, but the center of the crystal appeared to be wrapped in leather held in place by twists of gold wire. This gold was braided at the ends, creating a series of thick, ornate cables which formed an elegant basket hilt like that of a saber.

She drew an electronic gun-shaped device out of a holster on her hip. Its barrel was a long pipe with several metallic bulbs near the end which terminated with a setting like that of an oversized wedding ring. In that setting was placed a red diamond larger than a fist, and it glowed with an energy that flickered across Iste's bright tan eyes as she exited from the ship's cabin.

Set in vivid darkness against the ship's blaze of northern lights were obvious yet unseen tendrils of nothingness, each wrapping themselves about the vessel. Iste glanced up the temple stairs where Pom drifted between several manifestations in order to operate the helm's console from several angles at once. She sensed that the limbs of this ethereal beast were seeking to strike at the ship's controls, but the outward push of the dryad's aura seemed to drive the unseen menace from its goal.

Iste knew that Pom's amber crystal radiated a raw telepsychic field as she projected her image, and although it was typically harmless to most beings she noted that the monster recoiled from the gem. Seeing this, she grinned as she realized that this confirmed Tattler's guess; that these Deep-Aether squids were susceptible to heightened mental energies.

Her heart pounded hard in a slow rhythm as she asked herself how long it had been since she had last been in the fray. Too long had she been trapped in the halls of power amid naught but pomp and circumstance. The diplomacy and politics of the aristocratic life had been her charge in hopes of maintaining the order of the higher realms. Yet she was now far and away from that place, and her body sang as the joy of battle gripped her; a warrior's hymn from elder lands long lost tasted like honey on her lips as she leapt into the sky.

The segmented metallic draperies that ran from the center of her back to the bracers of her gloved gauntlets erupted in a pink field of energy. This field was as solid as her armor and unfurled from her limbs as a set of rose colored wings. On these, she soared into the air like an angel to meet her foe. Realizing the beast was not to be seen by the light of mortal eyes, she closed her lids gently as she continued to ascend, singing boldly. Looking within, she saw the thing: gargantuan, bulbous, and lurid.

At first it appeared to be three monstrous cephalopods, each with a singular bulging red eye and several toothy beaked maws. But then she saw that the creature was a sort of hydra, one horror with three heads awkwardly bound together in grizzly folds of gathering mantle. From this macabre swell of fetid flesh, scores of maliciously spiked tentacles emanated, each dripping with acrid ectoplasm. Those tendrils not entangled about her ship were now reaching to halt her ascent, yet at the summit of her flight she sang the verse of victory in her ancient song and from the crystal handle of her blade-less sword flared a brilliant crackle of lightning.

From that minor storm, a rainbow brand rippling with a surging current of eldrich force erupted from that crystal hilt. Singing still, she spun in the air like the most masterful dancer and cut free a number of the creature's reaching pseudopod. The Kraken thrashed in pain bludgeoning the ship which careened wildly out of control despite Pom's vigilant efforts. The Axis Mundi filled the void with a vivid display of lights as batteries of lasers pulsed wildly into the distance with a thick ozone smell.

Iste dove down hard and fast in pursuit of the dreadful squid, driving her sword into the eye of the central head. As she punched through the membrane, it exploded in a wretched splatter that filled Iste's mind with awful visions, and her ears rang with the lingering psychic screams of the creature's past victims. Iste was caught off guard by the hallucinogenic images inspired by the being's spiritual gore spilled on her in melee, and the two remaining heads took the opening to strike.

It hit her in the center of the chest, driving her down into the stairs of the temple with a cracking of stone. Her head swam, but she fought off unconsciousness. She lifted her blaster to take aim but discovered the crystal had insufficient charge from the long period of disuse. She sought to sing but her diaphragm cramped in a pain that seized her breath, failing to notice that the wind had been knocked out of her in the heat of combat. combat. Iste gasped for her words as the pistol clicked uselessly in her hand.

The creature roared in a shrill whine just beyond her ability to hear, but in the lag of its scream, she could hear its bellowing shout in a deep residual hum that made the whole of the ship vibrate violently. For a brief moment, Iste felt a shock of fear as she could hear loud crackling sounds as the crystals that composed her ship began to shake themselves apart. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins finally drew her abdominal muscles back under her command and her chest once again filled with air.

She cried out with a sudden and beauteous crescendo, singing forcefully from her diaphragm, and the singular perfect note filled her blaster with energy. With a small tornado of glowing rings circling about the gun's diamond barrel, a brilliant torrent of radiant plasma ripped into the creature tearing the left head from its body. The creature itself was now gripped quite obviously with fear of its opponent, and let go of the ship. But this left the ship in free fall as it tumbled through the void. The creature attempted to descend with full force into Iste as she stood poised on the steps of the temple-helm.

Again the warrior of Atlantis and First Knight of Somek At'Grallah stood firm, shouting out with a loud kia followed by a glorious trill of song. From this melody she fueled a barrage of blaster fire, and amidst the flurry of prismatic strikes from her sword, the Transcendental-Kraken made a last effort to drive its immense bulk into her.

The stone stairs below her feet began to shatter and sent broken shards up about her. But her aura blazed bright as the sun and the strength of her mettle became a psychic shield of willpower, a perfect barrier set about her through which the monster could not pass.

With a last shrieking knell, the Kraken fell into a writhing death-roll which it used to fall into her with all its might, but in vain. In this last moment, the integrity of its body failed and in a sickeningly abhorrent mass, the creature discorporated. As it spontaneously turned into a viscous fluid it rained down onto the ship, smearing it with an ethereal slime that spattered across the deck and trailed behind them.

For a moment, Iste was overwhelmed by the hallucinogenic ectoplasm and fell faint into nightmare visions of remembrance. She was forced to recall other violent battles, wars with foes that had once been her friends. Exaggerated horrors created from her personal failings that swelled up from her long lived past, and the heart of all her fears: memories of her sinking homeland as the crystals below her feet shattered and the sky as she knew it vanished from her sight above.

“Iste! Iste! Wake up! By all the Animal Masters, Iste wake up!” The voice cut through the fog of miserable memories. “Iste! The ship is holding together but just barely. Many of the power crystals cracked and some of them even shattered. We're having trouble maintaining atmosphere and life support!”

Looking into the translucent umbra of the dryad's face, Iste remembered where she was. “All right, let me gather myself. The systems are damaged but not knocked out, so we just have to remain calm and start regeneration protocols. What about navigation, where are we? Where are we going?”

Pom looked pensive and with a deep frown said, “The engines are completely out. We're in full speed drift without steering.”

Iste tried to maintain composure, but she had to admit the situation was dire. As she tried to decide as to the next course of action, she noticed Tattler exiting the lift and climbing the stairs to join her, although the steepness of the steps provided him extreme difficulty. His awkward ascent made her smile despite circumstance, but she moved down the stairs to help him.

But it only took a few steps before she realized that she had to struggle herself. Her armor was resilient, but the nigh-physical power of the beast had managed to exceed its endurance. She seemed to have broken a rib or two in the fight, thus found herself sitting on the steps again trying to catch her breath.

The clockwork companion reached her, climbed into her lap and asked, “Is the danger over?”

Iste nodded to him with a light smile. “It is, but our ship is so damaged that our expedition is probably going to have to be halted until we are able to make appropriate repairs. Searching for Ji Qi-Miao will have to wait.”

Extending his telescoping eyes outward, he glanced off in the direction that the ship seemed to be drifting before retracting them again. In a happy tone, Tattler gave a chiming report. “Oh no, oh no, don't you worry about that. Damaged or not our ship is still in pursuit of my master. If you look you'll see, we approach the same cosmic vortex into which he and Levee fell!”

Watching as Tattler pointed off into space, Iste shot a worried glance at Pom who vanished to the ship's helm and returned in a flash.

“He's right,” the dryad somberly reported. “We're being drawn towards an unidentifiable spacial anomaly. Advanced analysis indicates no conclusions about the nature of the aberration, but early readings do suggest that it may be a cosmic vortex.”

Although a mild sense of dread lingered, Iste found herself amused more than fearful. "Wonderful,” she said with a reassuring grin. “At least we're on the right track.”

#sci fi & fantasy #original character #short story #trans author #poc characters

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